Aw, Table
by ohmyloki
Summary: A day in the life of Clint Barton. Alternatively: How Clint found out Steve and Tony were 'dating'.


Clint stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen, thankful to find it empty. The last thing he wanted to deal with was… well, people. Although the lack of people meant the lack of a hot breakfast, at least he didn't have to put up with Cap's perkiness and silent judgement, Thor's incredibly loud laughter, Bruce's eerily calm demeanor, or Tony's entire existence. If the cost of avoidance was cold cereal and milk, he could deal with paying it.

He scrounged up his breakfast and turned on the coffee-maker. Enjoying the smell of the percolating caffeine, he hopped up on the table across from where it sat on the counter, watching as the liquid dripped through the filter. He shoveled a scoop of fruit loops into his mouth and crunched away. A moment later, he thought he heard a small creaking noise. He paused mid-chew, cocking his head slightly. Hearing nothing, he scooped another spoonful into his mouth, a drop of milk escaping and landing on his chin.

"Ugh," he said and dropped the spoon back into the bowl, reaching down for the hem of his shirt to wipe off the offending liquid. Unfortunately for him, the small shift in his weight revealed a much larger problem when this time there was no mistaking the loud _CRACK_ that filled the room a second before the table shuddered and collapsed beneath him.

It took a few more seconds for his mind to catch up on his body, which was now firmly planted on the floor, on top of what was previously the kitchen table. It was also covered in a fine sheen of milk accentuated by a scattering of colorful loops.

"What-"

"Jesus, Barton. It's too early for you to be wrecking my building. What did you do?"

Clint looked up and saw Steve and Tony standing in the doorway. Steve looked confused and concerned, Tony looked like he was holding back a laugh.

"This wasn't my fault," he said.

Tony paused for a moment, eyes roving around the scene in front of him, before he smirked and looked back at Clint. "No, I suppose it wasn't."

Steve looked over at Tony who just gave him a quick wink before he walked over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Steve watched Tony oddly, while Clint was preoccupied with being thankful that the two of them hadn't managed to twist this into one of their daily arguments.

Steve's eyes broke away from Tony, cheeks a little pink with what Clint assumed was thinly-veiled anger, and he walked over to help Clint extricate himself from the wreckage on the floor. Once standing, the three of them surveyed the damage.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Steve looked at the two other men. "We should probably just order out this morning."

"Yes! Waffles!" Tony said.

As Tony was relaying an order to JARVIS, Natasha walked in and looked at the scene in front of her, before her eyes landed on the empty coffee pot on the counter. She looked over at Clint.

"No coffee?" She asked. Clint just hung his head.

* * *

"Clint, I swear to god if you're not down here in thirty seconds-"

"Yes, Natasha," Clint said, over-enunciating the syllables of her name. "I already told you I'm on my way. I'm leaving the tower right now."

He heard her utter something in Russian before she hung up, something he hadn't heard her say before, and at this point he couldn't tell if it was affection or annoyance in her tone.

He _was_ leaving the tower, though. Or trying to. Currently he was leaving his bedroom, hopping around on one foot as he tried to slide a shoe on the other. Once that obstacle was taken care of, he set about finding his tie. Which, of course, was nowhere to be found. Low-grade panic set in as he realized just how mad Natasha was going to be with him.

He needed a tie and he needed it now.

"JARVIS, where's Tony?"

"Mr. Stark is currently on the communal floor in the media room."

He thanked JARVIS, leaving the room and heading down the hall. Clint found him on the couch, slouched deep into the cushion.

"Stark, I need a tie," Clint announced.

"And I wouldn't mind a blowjob but you don't hear me asking you," Tony said airily, most of his attention focused on the tablet on his lap. He must have been coerced into going to a meeting earlier, he was still dressed in his suit, jacket thrown aside and sleeves rolled up. He was also wearing a simple black tie. Perfect.

"What would I have to do for you to give me the tie that is currently around your neck?" Clint asked.

The words were out of his mouth before he traced the conversation back and realized what Tony had just said. Horror dawned as he realized what Tony would say next.

"Well, I did just say-" Tony started and then, in an unusual mood for him, snapped his mouth shut mid-sentence. His eyes flickered up to Clint, and narrowed.

"Why do you need a tie, anyway?" he asked.

"Because I value my life and Natasha was expecting me fifteen minutes ago."

Tony turned his attention back to the tablet and Clint watched, shocked, as Tony removed his tie with one hand. He held out the piece of cloth without looking, still tapping away at the screen with his free hand.

When Clint, out of shock at the quick acquiescence, didn't take it right away, Tony shook the item in the air.

"I've already learned my lesson when it comes to her," Tony explained.

Clint walked to the back of the couch and grabbed the tie; Tony held onto it as he craned his neck back, resting his head on the back of the couch, looking up at Clint. He waggled his eyebrows.

"I do expect details, though," he said, letting go of the tie.

"Sorry, Stark. I don't kill and tell."

Wrapping the tie around his neck, trying (and failing) to properly do a half-windsor, Clint was unprepared for when his foot caught on the carpet and he was sent jerking forward. His face met the floor with an unpleasant noise, his arm just barely able to prevent him from braining himself entirely. He groaned and rolled over.

Retracing his steps with his eyes, he noticed the offending item. A piece of carpet was oddly bunched. There were holes in it, too, it almost looked as if someone had tried grabbing a handful to tear out.

"What the fuck, Stark? I thought you were a millionaire-"

"Billionaire."

"Then what's up with the holey carpet?" Clint asked as he sat up.

Tony twisted around on the couch and spotted him. "What happened to you?" he asked, clearly unaware of Clint's plight.

"Your cheap carpet happened to me," he said, standing up.

Tony looked over and spotted the bunched flooring. His eyebrows went up, and then he grinned. "Hmm. I should probably get that fixed, shouldn't I? JARVIS, you know what to do," he said, before turning back around and altogether ignoring Clint.

Taking a deep breath and mumbling a few choice words about the faults in Tony's personality, Clint took off in the direction of the express elevator, hoping it would at least save him a minute or two. When he turned the corner and heard the muttered curses of a couple of delivery men, currently holding the elevator doors open, struggling with a very large mattress, he sighed and went over to help.

He spent all of two minutes attempting to help them squeeze it through the open doors, wondering how the fuck they had even managed to get it in there, before he gave up and apologized, heading for the stairwell and cursing Tony's penchant for a large phallic status symbol of a home.

By the time he made it out of the tower and around the corner to the small cafe where Natasha should be waiting, he was out of breath and panting harshly on legs that felt like jello. He spotted her sitting at a table on the sidewalk, delicate hand curled around a cup of coffee. She glanced up at him as he approached before looking pointedly down at her watch. He sat down heavily in the vacant seat opposite her.

"You're late," she said, taking a sip of coffee. "And bleeding."

He lifted his hand and touched his nose gently, his fingertips bright red when he pulled them away.

* * *

It had been a long battle. A long, sticky, messy battle. Steve had somehow managed to escape the goo that had been sprayed everywhere, but Clint was pretty sure he'd be finding sticky spots for days to come. And then he remembered what was waiting for him in his own bathroom and he groaned.

"Hey, Cap. Mind if I borrow your shower when we get back to the tower?"

Steve gave him an odd look. "What's wrong with yours?"

"I, uh… had a little accident."

Steve's brows furrowed and Clint sighed.

"I tried to turn off the bathroom light from my bed. I grabbed the wrong arrow." In his own defense, it was dark and he was half asleep and maybe a little drunk.

Steve shook his head, clearly trying not to laugh at him. "Yeah, go ahead. I have to go down to HQ for a bit anyway."

By the time Clint made it back to the tower and up to Steve's room, the goo had started to dry, every movement making his skin stretch in weird and unpleasant ways.

"Ugh," he said as he instructed JARVIS to heat up the shower, toeing off his boots near the door.

Clint peeled off his clothes with more than a little effort, doing his best to keep Steve's bathroom as neat as it was when he walked in. Unfortunately, it was a lost cause with the way he seemingly stuck to everything that he touched.

He piled his clothes on a towel on the floor and stepped under the hot spray, moaning with relief as the water pounded away at his sore muscles. For a while, he stood there letting the water soften and wash away some of the goo, turning the water brown as he watched it swirl down the drain.

He grabbed the shampoo, squirted some into his palms, and rubbed harshly at his hair. When he was done washing, he reached down to adjust the the temperature and stared in shock when the knob came off in his hand, water spraying everywhere.

"Shit. Fuck."

Panicking, Clint got down on his knees, trying to avoid the spray, and attempted to put the knob back on. When that failed, he tried to turn the water off, instead only shocking himself with ice cold water that had him scrambling back as quickly as he could on the tile, until he sat spread eagle on the other end of the shower floor.

The water was coming out faster than the shower was draining, Clint realized as the icy cold slowly crept up to his more sensitive bits.

Not knowing what else to do, he opened the shower door and grabbed for a towel, wrapping it around his waist and running out of the bathroom in search of help. He flung the door to the hallway open and nearly ran right into another set of delivery men, this time carrying a very large and very heavy headboard. He reeled backwards, foot catching on his discarded boots. At the same time, water dripped down from his hair and into his eye, where he promptly realized he hadn't had the chance to wash out the shampoo and he grunted in pain. His hands came up involuntarily to rub at his eye, letting the towel fall as he stumbled backwards.

And there he lay, splayed out naked on his back, blind and ready to give up on life.

"Uh… Clint?"

Clint groaned in response and opened his one good eye, spotting Steve in the doorway taking in the scene.

"I had to swing by to grab my-" He stopped himself. "What on earth is going on here?"

"You're witnessing what my life has become."

Steve was silent for a beat. "Uh, you might want to cover up, you're kind of in the doorway and there are delivery men in the hallway."

Clint blindly felt next to him for the towel before he spread it over his hips. "I'm blind and I broke your shower and I think I'm just going to lay here and try to see if I have a latent mutant ability to sink into the carpet."

"You broke my shower?"

"I didn't even do anything!" Clint whined. "I just tried to turn up the hot water."

"Erm. The hot water, you said?"

Clint risked opening his eye again and saw Steve's cheeks go a little pink. "Sorry, I thought we-I thought I had that fixed."

"Whatever, man. Just leave me here to die."

"While I would never begrudge you something that's ultimately your decision, it would be nice if you could at least… not die in my bedroom? Also, it would be a shame trying to find a replacement for you."

"Aw, Cap. I didn't know you cared."

"Now, I didn't say that. I just really don't want to deal with the paperwork."

Clint laughed.

* * *

"Oh, god. Harder," Tony moaned.

Steve grunted as he slid into Tony faster and rougher. He hooked an arm under Tony's knee and reached up to grab the headboard, trying to get better leverage and a better angle.

Tony moaned wantonly, his cock red and leaking where it lay against his stomach untouched. His fingers dug tightly into the flesh of Steve's hips, trying desperately to pull Steve in deeper. And Steve loved it. He loved how much Tony wanted him, wanted this. Begging for it, even.

"Please, Steve. Harder!" Tony whimpered.

And Tony begging, Steve's name tumbling from those lips, red and slick from Steve's kisses, never failed to cause a new wave of lust to roll through Steve's body. He gripped the headboard tighter and felt more than heard the crack as the wood splintered. He didn't care, he never cared when he was with Tony. An unhealthy habit but oh god, the things Tony did to him, the way Tony made him feel. He could never feel sorry for that.

Tony's teeth bit into his bottom lip, his eyes screwed shut tightly as he worked his hips against Steve, making those sweet noises of his. Noises that were for Steve's ears only.

Steve thrust harder, letting go of the headboard and lifting Tony's hips up higher, trying to get deeper. He looked down between them and he was entranced by the sight of them joined together, watching as his cock disappeared into Tony, skin glistening as he pulled out.

He was wrapped up in the sight and must have unknowingly slowed his movements because, after a long moment, Tony gave him a hard punch to the shoulder and pushed at him roughly. Steve let Tony maneuver himself on top, Steve sitting with his back resting against the headboard.

Tony glared at him for a moment before he reached over Steve's head, grabbing on to the wood, and rode Steve hard and fast. He could tell it still wasn't enough for Tony, so he wrapped his hands around Tony's thighs and under, using his strength to lift Tony and pull him down as hard as he could. Tony threw his head back and groaned before going silent again and this time Steve could tell he was giving Tony exactly what he wanted.

He helped Tony with the motions, lifting and pulling faster and harder than Tony would have been capable of himself. A litany of filth fell from Tony's lips as they moved together, and Steve groaned at the way Tony was losing control. He loved this, loved seeing Tony in ways no one else was allowed.

Tony reached down and stroked his own cock roughly and the sight of it ramped up Steve's own nearing orgasm. He watched as Tony's muscles contracted, as his breathing ceased, and felt it as Tony clamped down around him before coming all over Steve, leaving a stripe of white nearly up to his shoulder.

Tony shook through the orgasm, moaning Steve's name as his legs went limp and Steve let him slow. When he opened his eyes, they were dark and glazed over with lust. His eyes narrowed in a look Steve knew all too well, the same look he got when he had something wonderful waiting to be worked on in his workshop.

He leaned forward, pulling Steve into a harsh kiss. It was wet and dirty and perfect and he didn't let up once as he began to rock his hips again, working Steve's cock slowly. Steve knew it was payback for how he strung Tony out earlier that day, but he couldn't bother being upset when it felt this good. Tony's hands were everywhere, his tongue ravaging his mouth, his hole a tight vise around Steve.

Tony may have been trying to draw it out, but Steve got the last laugh when he came less than a minute later. It took him by surprise, building up quickly, and Steve came so hard he thought he might have drawn blood when he bit into Tony's lip.

Tony stroked Steve's hair as he came down from the high, and they sat there in silence for a minute, just enjoying the press of their bodies together as they regained their breath. Steve pressed kisses to Tony's shoulder, his arms wrapped around Tony's waist. Soft, loving kisses that betrayed the true nature of their relationship.

After they separated and cleaned themselves up, Steve rested his head on Tony's shoulder as they lay together, his arm thrown over Tony's stomach. He felt Tony trailing light fingers up his spine as they lingered in a post-coital haze.

Tony shifted and, out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw him reach up and touch the headboard before dropping his hand back down.

"You know," Tony said softly. "I just bought that to replace the last one we broke."

Steve's brows furrowed for a moment until he remembered the way the wood had cracked beneath his grip. The back of his neck heated.

"Well, I thought you had fixed my shower, but apparently I was wrong about that," Steve said, not letting himself feel sorry for the damage he'd caused.

Tony was silent for a moment. "If by fixed, you mean half-assedly welded the knob back on then yes I did."

"Tony."

"Steve."

"Tony."

"Hey, I'm not the one who thought that it would be a viable footrest! You know how I feel about workmen up here. Besides, you can have free reign of _my_ shower," Tony said, sliding his hand down and giving Steve's ass a rough squeeze.

"Tony," Steve said again.

"Stop saying my name like that. Fine. I'll have JARVIS call someone. He's already got someone coming in tomorrow to fix the carpet in the TV room, anyway."

Steve chuckled, remembering that incident with a particular fondness.

"You've really got to quit with the property damage, Steve. It's not like I can afford to replace everything I own because you can't control yourself when we have sex - oh wait, yes I can. Keep on doing it, it does wonders for my ego."

"Like your ego needs any help. Besides, it's not entirely on me, you've caused more than your fair share."

"True, that time on the kitchen table was inspired, if I say so myself."

Steve thought so, too. Not that he would tell Tony that, of course. He wasn't joking about the ego thing.

"What about the time with the armor?" Steve asked, instead.

"Which time? The hallway wall or the workshop door?"

Steve just smiled and turned his head, nipping Tony's skin and sighing.

"You're incorrigible," he said.

"And you love it."

What could he say? Tony was right.

* * *

There was a dent in the wall. It was the third one he'd noticed that week. There was something oddly entrancing about this one, though. About the way the light and shadows played on the cracks and dips. Or maybe he was just exhausted after the day he'd had and was slowly going crazy. Either way, he stood in front of the dent for at least a full minute, head tilted, staring as he let his imagination go crazy. He really should just give up for the day and go to bed but had yet to convince his legs to move.

"Clint?"

He turned his head and found Natasha staring at him with a worried expression on her face.

"Nat."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Clint, what are you looking at?"

"Tony's a millionaire," he said.

"Billionaire."

"Whatever."

"Are we just stating the obvious today or was there a point you wanted to make?"

"Tony's a millionaire and he's got dents in his walls."

Natasha's eyes shifted to the dip in the wall.

"You'd think a millionaire's home wouldn't have dents in the walls. This is the third one I've seen-"

A loud thump behind them drew their attention, rattling a picture hanging on the wall. Clint watched the photograph sway and then looked further down to the door. They were standing near Steve's room, Clint realized. As he stood there wondering what Steve could be doing, and whether or not he might need help, the door popped open.

Tony backed out of the room, shirtless and leering at something through the doorway before he shut it and turned, finally noticing Clint and Natasha. His low-slung pants looked two sizes too big for him.

"Oh," he said. In an uncharacteristic move, he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away.

Clint resolutely did not look at the hickey on Tony's hip right above where the drawstring was tied tight. Or at what looked to be a bite mark on his chest, near his nipple. Or at his messy, tousled hair. In all honestly, there really was no safe place for Clint to look.

"Well," Tony said, recovering quickly. "I guess this helps us decide on when we were going to tell you guys."

Clint stared at the door, the door was safe. Silence settled around them like an awkward hug and Clint could hear a hitch in Natasha's breath that meant she was trying to hold back a laugh.

"Tell us what?" she asked; the traitor.

Clint looked over and saw her lips tighten, hiding a smile.

"Steve and I are fucking... Regularly and enthusiastically." Tony paused and glanced around the hallway and inhaled loudly. "Yep. This is sufficiently awkward. And I'd really like to get back to that whole 'Steve and I are fucking' thing and I need to grab something from the kitchen, so I'll see you guys later!" he said and turned on his heel. Clint tried very hard not to think about what Tony could need from the kitchen.

Natasha bounced on her feet and yelled after Tony. "I expect details!"

His flipped her off without looking back and she giggled. An honest-to-god giggle. Clint looked at her in horror. She lifted an eyebrow in return.

"What? Like he doesn't ask you for them."

Her expression grew soft as her eyes traced his face, most likely taking in the dark circles. She smiled and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"I think you need sleep, Clint," she said, pulling him down the hallway towards her room.

"Tasha?"

"Yes?"

"I really don't what to know where that dent came from."

"No, you probably don't."


End file.
